


She's My Man

by BananaStickers



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2020 NHL Playoffs Bubble, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Falling In Love, Feminization, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28715193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaStickers/pseuds/BananaStickers
Summary: 70 days.  If they do their job well, that's how long the Maple Leafs will be in the bubble for; far too long to neglect dynamic interactions.  Hell, Mitch starts feeling antsy after a week if he doesn't have someone kneeling for him.The NHL hopes to bring in professionals, but until they can get approved, the Leafs are going to need to turn to teammates for their dynamic needs.  This could go wrong in a hundred different ways.But then Mitch sees who he got paired with, sees their shared kinks -feminization- and thinks, maybe it could also go very, very right.
Relationships: Mitch Marner/Morgan Rielly
Comments: 62
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

“Boys, listen up and pay attention. We have one more important thing to go over before you head out today.”

Mitch resists rolling his eyes and groaning at Keefe’s statement, but it’s tough. Today, the last practice day before the Leafs and the rest of the NHL enter the bubble, has been nothing but team meetings and prep plans. It’s exhausting, trying to nail down a completely new routine that could last for as many as 70 days, even for the players. Mitch does not envy the equipment guys.

He sits up a little straighter as Shawn, the Maple Leafs’ dynamic trainer, enters the room. The question about what to do in regards to dynamics has been hotly debated amongst all sports leagues, and the consensus so far is that the NHL plans to get professionals into the bubble with them to assist. Mitch could go a week or two, but more than two months without someone to Dom...that would be a mess for his mental health.

“Well boys, I got some news,” Shawn says, and he doesn’t sound particularly happy. Even with his mask on, Mitch can practically see the frown. “Although they are moving forward with the plan to bring professionals into the bubble for your dynamic needs, we believe this system will not be in place when you arrive, and potentially not for weeks afterwards.” The team does groan now, and Shawn holds up his hands. “Trust me, I get your frustration. There are some legal contract issues that are being dealt with. I know for many of you, going even a week without a dynamic interaction would be a challenge, and the last thing we want is for that stuff to carry onto the ice or in the locker room. So the Maple Leafs organization, along with most other playoff teams, will be instituting a voluntary dynamic matchmaking system.” Shawn stresses the word _voluntary._ “If you are a Dom, and you would like to participate, you will fill out an anonymous checklist. We will pass that list to the subs and they will be able to rank their match options, along with providing their own list. We will then help pair you up. Switches, sorry, you’ll need to pick one or the other.”

“I’m not sure I want all you idiots to know my kinks,” Spezza smirks, and the team erupts into chirps before Shawn gets the room under control.

“It’s anonymous,” he says. “Until you’re paired, you will not know who wrote the checklist. Now, there is a chance you may not be matched with a teammate due to the fact that we don’t have an equal number of Doms and subs here. If you’re unmatched, we will be working with the other teams here in Toronto to make sure everyone who wants a match gets one. Any questions, come see me, but - Doms, if you’re participating, you must fill out your checklist by 10a tomorrow. Subs, you will then have 24 hours to rank your choices and fill out your own lists, and then we will try to match you as quickly as possible.”

“Don’t dawdle,” Keefe barks. “If you forget to do your part and you don’t get matched and it causes issues, that’s not acceptable. Remember that as tempting as it may be with them so close, we can’t see our significant others during this time. Does everyone understand?”

There’s a chorus of yesses, and the meeting finally breaks up. Immediately, Auston turns to the group, eyes wide. “Imagine getting matched with someone on another team,” he says.

“The fuckin’ Bruins,” someone calls, and everyone laughs.

“Yo, Willy totally wants to get matched with Pasta I bet,” Auston smirks, and Nylander scoffs, playing it cool, but he’s starting to turn red.

Mitch takes the chance to get out of there while he still can. The idea of matching with someone on another team sounds incredibly unappealing; he’s already had to deal with years of skepticism about him being a Dom due to his size and general temperament. Which is bullshit, because Doms can be small, and Doms can be happy. That old stereotype of the big, serious, always-in-control Dom is some 1950s bullshit.

Still, it persists, and Mitch thinks about matching with someone who doesn’t know him. If he has to convince his matched sub that yes, he _can_ Dom them - 

Ugh.

He’ll still fill out the form, and just pray he gets a teammate. At least everyone on the Leafs fully accepts him. It wasn’t always like that, but it is now, and it’s been good, even if the Toronto media is still occasionally skeptical that he’s not secretly a switch.

By the time he gets home, the checklist is in his email. It’s...comprehensive, to say the least. On one hand, that’s a positive, and likely means he’ll match well. On the other hand, he definitely has procrastinated on packing, so it’s gonna be a pain in the ass to get this done too.

He manages, though. Even if it’s after 10p once he finally sits down and is able to fully look at the thing, and he hasn’t been able to do any gaming all day, he manages.

Most of Mitch’s kinks aren’t weird in the scheme of things. Plugs, a little light spanking, some nipple clamps, kneeling. Basic, basic, basic.

Then he gets to the section marked _feminization_ and pauses, reading through its subcategories. Lingerie. Corsets. High heels…

“Fuck,” he mutters. The thing is, lingerie and feminization aren’t unusual at all for most people. Some days when Mitch goes grocery shopping there are more men in dresses than women. But for professional athletes, there are still some things that just Aren’t Done.

Subs in the NHL aren’t supposed to be soft. Sure, they may be subs, but these guys like pain. Heavy impact play. _Even our subs are real men_ , the message always went, not sissies who wear dresses and want to be coddled. No Princesses in the NHL, Don Cherry would always say.

Fuck that guy.

But Mitch...well, it’s one of his favorite kinks. He doesn’t even like _forced_ feminization, which has started to be gradually more accepted in the NHL. Humiliation doesn’t do it for him. He likes the sweet guys - hell, and girls - that just want to look pretty sometimes. Pretty for Mitch, specifically. Dolled up in something they picked out special for him, maybe spent an hour on their makeup, so much time and work to look good. All for Mitch.

He’s probably never going to find it in a sub with other NHLers, but fuck it, he thinks, marking those categories down as ‘highly interested’.

He’ll never know unless he tries, right?

~~~~~

Mitch mostly forgets about the match until the Leafs check into Royal York and he’s got two keycards under his name. Seeing his confused look - plus that of a few of his nearby teammates - the concierge launches into a speech she’s clearly given multiple times today. “The white one is for your room. The blue one is for your dynamic space. They are on different floors. If you’ll be doing something messy in your dynamic space, such as wax play, anything with blood, or heavy body fluids, we will need to set up that area a little differently to prevent staining, so please let us know.”

“Oh yeah, mark me down for that,” Spezza says, and when Mitch turns to give him a look, Jason shrugs at him. “Don’t kink shame, Marns,” he says, but he’s smirking while he says it, teasing.

“Bet it’s piss,” Auston declares.

Spezza laughs. “I’ll piss on you, Mats. Now if you boys will excuse me from this lovely conversation.”

Mitch turns over the blue keycard in his palm. There’s no name, nothing to indicate who he was matched with. “Do we know who we got paired up with?” Tyson asks from the back of the crowd, echoing Mitch’s silent question.

“They’re supposed to email us tonight,” Freddy says. Mitch isn’t sure how he knows that; possibly because Freddy is seemingly the only one who pays strict attention in meetings. Well, Mo and JT are usually pretty rapt, too. Mitch tries, but it doesn’t always happen.

The hotel room is nicer than what they usually stay in - which is usually plenty nice already - but if this is gonna be home for 70 days, it damn well better be. There’s a separate bedroom, and a living room area with a fridge. No kitchen, but that’s not a bad thing, because Mitch would half expect some of the guys he plays with to burn the place down within a day if they had access to a stove of any kind. The bathroom is huge, almost as nice as his own, and he decides to break the place in and take a quick shower.

There’s an email waiting for him when he finishes, and with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, he opens it.

Unfortunately, there’s no name yet, only the sub’s checklist of their limits for him to review. Shawn, in the email, informs him that this is for privacy reasons; Mitch will only know who his match is when he sees him in person. They are scheduled to meet in their dynamic space for the first time tomorrow, a few hours after practice. After that, it’s up to them to schedule how they see fit.

“Oh, shit,” Mitch mutters to himself as he scrolls down his match’s likes and dislikes and hard limits. He can scarcely believe it, because if Mitch got to create his own sub out of a catalogue, he’s not sure he could do better than this. His mystery sub has all the same limits, likes all the same stuff. ‘Sex’ is left unchecked, but everything else - hands, mouths, digits - are all okay, and Mitch can work with that. Sex can be overrated anyway. Even the sub’s safe word is ‘tangerine’, and Mitch’s own safeword has been ‘orange’ since he learned nothing rhymed with it. It must be fate, he figures.

More importantly, everything under _feminization_ is checked. Makeup, panties, _coming_ in panties, heels, it’s all here. “Shit,” Mitch says again, wracking his brain for the Leafs subs and who it could be. Kerfy? Tyson? Kaskisuo is a switch. All the NHL switches allegedly lean Dom, but Mitch thinks that’s probably more macho old-school bullshit, so...maybe?

Or maybe he got paired up with someone from another team. “Shit,” he says aloud for the third time. God, this whole thing is exhausting. He just wants to find out who it is and...be good to them. And preferably not have them question his ability to Dom.

No use worrying about it now. The Leafs group chain is alight with chatter about the matching process, but Mitch sets it on silent and goes to bed early. It’s the only way he’s going to stop worrying about this whole thing.

~~~~~

When Mitch wakes up, he casually scrolls back through what he missed. At some point, both Mo and JT have corralled the group and reminded them to respect privacy, so the gossiping is significantly lessened in the morning.

It’s weird being here in Toronto, yet staying in a hotel. He passes seemingly half the New York Rangers later on the way to breakfast and gets a professionally polite hello from Chris Kreider, who he hung out with at the All-Star Game in February. At this point, that All-Star Game seems like five years ago instead of five months.

And they are definitely not here to have a friendly All-Star Game.

The whirl of shuttles, practice, team meetings, back to the hotel, and lunch all distract him enough to not think too much about the match until he gets back to his own room at around 2p. Like probably everyone else, he brought an entire suitcase of various tools, and he hefts it open and stares at his options. Should he just bring it all? The dynamic room is theirs for the duration of the stay, so he could bring the stuff and just leave it there for when they want to use it. At the same time, maybe the first meeting should just be talking, going over ground rules, and if Mitch walks in with a suitcase full of butt plugs and other kink objects, that might set the wrong tone.

Fuck it. He’ll just go a little early and bring it all, and he can _ask_ his sub what they want to do. Communication is key for any good Dom, Mitch reminds himself.

The dynamic room is a scaled-down and smaller version of his own room. The queen bed is pushed to the side, leaving a large open area for play, and Mitch can see that the bed is on lockable wheels if they want to move it back. The bed gently crinkles when Mitch sits down on it; there’s an obvious layer of waterproof sheets tucked there, and extra towels are piled on the nightstand. Next to it, is a note describing all the items that the hotel has available to check out, including a couple St Andrew’s Crosses, spanking benches, even a pillory set and a rimming chair. Fancy, Mitch thinks. There is also a stern reminder to alert the hotel of any heavy fluids so they can plastic-wrap the room beforehand, and Mitch wonders how much work the hotel staff is gonna have to do to clean these rooms. Knowing the idiots he plays with, probably a lot.

Mitch resolves to tip them extremely well.

He nearly drops the paper as the door clacks open. Okay, he thinks, setting it aside. Here’s his match.

Please be cool, please be cool, please be - 

Big.

The guy is _big,_ that’s the first thing Mitch sees, the rest of him shrouded in shadow. Mitch’s heart sinks briefly. Suddenly he’s struck by a certainty that he is going to need to prove himself, prove that he can Dom a larger man. The bigger the sub, the firmer the hand required, so the saying goes, but just like every other stereotype that’s bullshit.

Isn’t it?

“Marns?” comes the call, and Mitch suddenly feels like he can breathe again.

“Mo?” he asks, as Morgan steps into the room and out of the shadows of the entryway. Holy shit, it’s _Morgan_ , and he’s grinning at Mitch with a relief that Mitch feels deep in his bones. “God, it’s you,” he says, jumping up and crossing the room to yank Morgan into a hug.

“It’s me,” Morgan laughs, and hugs Mitch back. He gives good hugs, always has; Mitch has always thought that Mo’s subs were lucky - 

Wait a minute. He steps back, probably a little too fast if Morgan’s confused look is any indication. Mo is a Dom, which means he shouldn’t actually be here. “Mo, buddy, I think there was a mistake. See, I was supposed to get matched up with a sub. I know the media is like, super convinced I’m a secret switch, but I’m not. I’m a Dom. So there must be - “

“Marns,” Mo says, and his voice is quiet but assured, and it shuts Mitch right up. “Mitch. I know you’re a Dom. One of us is a switch here, but it’s not you.”

“You’re a switch? I mean - “ Mitch is suddenly aware that the surprise in his tone might be a little shitty. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just surprised, is all. I never knew.”

“Everyone just assumes. Easier to let ‘em.”

“Right,” Mitch says. He knows all about the media assumptions. There’s a sudden terrible thought, and he feels bad for asking, but he has to know. “Um...so did you not want to Dom? Or did they like...because there weren't enough subs…”

Morgan’s eyes widen. “Did they make me?”

“Well like, not make you, but. Y’know, ask.” Morgan would do it too, if they asked. Despite his true preferences, he’d put the team first, Mitch knows that.

“Marns, no. No.” Morgan runs a hand through his hair, and Mitch suddenly realizes he’s nervous. “I want this. I chose this. Chose _you.”_

“Oh,” Mitch says quietly. _That_ does something for him, and he steps closer, closing the gap between them. “I think I get it. You’re always taking care of the team, so…”

Morgan smiles, crooked and small. “So it’s nice to be taken care of sometimes,” he finishes, confirming.

Mitch takes a deep breath, stands up straight. Even at his full height he’s at least an inch shorter than Mo, and way slimmer, but that sure as hell isn’t going to stop him. “Mo, you can count on me,” he says. “I’m gonna take care of you so good. I’m gonna...I’m gonna take care of the shit out of you.”

Morgan looks confused for a split second and yeah, okay, that didn’t make too much sense, but then he bursts out laughing. “I know you are, Mitch,” he says. “That’s why I’m excited to see you here, ya goof.”

“Well, get your ass in here,” Mitch says, stepping back. “I was afraid it was gonna be someone from another team.”

“Me too,” Morgan admits, reaching back and grabbing a duffel, which Mitch hasn’t noticed before. “Pretty much the last thing I wanted. I would hope everyone would be professional and leave everything here, and not take it on the ice, but...you know this league.”

“Unfortunately,” Mitch says, and they both grin. “So um...what’s in the bag?”

“What’s in _your_ bag?” Morgan challenges playfully, waving at Mitch’s suitcase.

Mitch scoffs, patting the top of the suitcase. “Oh, I have to go first, huh? I show you mine, you show me yours?”

“That’s generally how these things work,” Morgan quips.

Mitch laughs. This has the potential to be so awkward, he knows, but with Morgan it’s falling back into fond chirps and playful energy. Still, he knows that they do need to be careful here. If things go wrong, there’s more at stake than just a hookup. “Okay, okay,” Mitch says, hefting his suitcase up onto the bed. “Let’s see what we brought and then we can talk about our checklists. Uh, did you wanna do anything today?”

Morgan steps up and sets his duffel next to Mitch’s suitcase. “Maybe. I mean, nothing too intense, but maybe I could...I could kneel.” He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. Mitch is close enough that he can hear the soft exhale. “It’s been awhile. Since I - for that.”

Next to him, Morgan’s hands are resting on the bed, and they clench at his statement. It’s more nerves, or maybe something deeper - his body reacting to a primal need - and it triggers Mitch’s Dom response. His hand is covering Morgan’s before he can consciously make the decision to do so. It looks small next to Morgan’s clenched fist, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let their size difference get in the way of anything. “I’d like that,” he says, a calm and confident statement.

Morgan blinks at him in surprise - it _is_ a bit different than his typical manic energy, Mitch knows - but then the surprise slides into a pleased smile. Morgan’s eyes crinkle up in happiness when he smiles, and Mitch finds himself really, really wanting to see more of this expression up close. “Okay then, Marns,” Morgan says. “Let’s see what you brought.”

Alright, Mitch thinks with a deep breath. No turning back now.

They’re really doing this.


	2. Chapter 2

Mitch unzips his suitcase - ignoring Morgan’s tease about it being Louis Vutton, because while Mitch isn’t quite as fashion obsessed as Aus or Willy, LV is _known_ for their luggage, c’mon - and gestures with a flourish at his stash. It’s all nice, high-quality toys. Toys he wouldn’t be ashamed to use with Morgan. Mitch remembers when he was a rookie and some of the older guys took him aside and suggested he upgrade from the cheap starter sets as soon as he could; it’s a lesson he took to heart.

Beside him, Mo lets out a whistle. “Not bad, Marns,” he says. “Some good stuff here. But really, how many anal plugs do you need?”

“Hey,” Mitch protests. Okay, he really likes plugs, and he’s got...probably too many, including a few designer labels. But they’re so versatile, and he says so. “There’s just so many shapes, you gotta have one of each,” he says, picking up a few. “See, this one is bumpy, this one vibrates, this - oh this is my favorite, it has a jiggle ball inside so you never forget you’re wearing it. Um, I think on your checklist you said no sex?”

“No sex, but anything else is good. I like plugs. Not as much as you, apparently, but they’re good.”

Morgan is teasing him, so Mitch can play that game too, and shoves the plug with the jiggle ball into Mo’s hands. “Okay. Our next meeting, I want you to wear this for me.” He lets his voice tick up at the end - not quite a question, but not a firm statement, giving Morgan an out if he doesn’t want to.

But Morgan takes it and nods. “Yes, Sir,” he says, and then pauses and makes a face.

That same awkward grimace is probably reflected in Mitch’s own expression. He usually likes being called an honorific like ‘Sir,’ really likes it, but from Morgan, it’s... _Sir_ just isn’t the right thing. “Just call me Mitch for now.”

“Mitch,” Morgan says, relaxing into a smile, and Mitch beams back at him.

They go through the rest of Mitch’s supply, including a few soft floggers (“I’m not opposed to spanking, but I’d rather it be your hand,” Morgan says, which sends something warm down Mitch’s spine) and a few nipple clamps which Morgan lingers over, obviously interested. Just like the checklist confirmed, they’re pretty much on the same page with just about everything. “Your turn,” Mitch says after they’re done, because he is _dying_ to know what’s in Morgan’s duffel.

“Yeah, my turn,” Morgan says, hesitating for just a moment at the zipper.

“Can’t wait to see,” Mitch says carefully after the moment stretches, and Morgan gives him a nod and opens it quick, like he has to go fast or he’ll chicken out.

Everything inside is in neat packing cubes, unlike the explosion of loose toys in Mitch’s bag, but there’s a whole lot of lace and frills and pink, Mitch can tell. “Jeez, putting me to shame with that packing job,” Mitch says, trying to put Morgan at ease. It works; his stiff shoulders drop from where they were up around his ears, and he laughs.

“Not like that’s hard, Marns. You set a pretty low bar.”

“I’ll remember that,” Mitch threatens playfully. “Anyway, wow. So this is all…?”

“Uh, pretty stuff? I mean, not _all._ A couple gags, a couple plugs. You have a better selection of those, so we can use yours if you want. But yeah, not like I can fit into most lingerie, even if the Dom does bring some along.”

“Okay, I’m just gonna address the elephant in the room,” Mitch says, because Morgan’s shoulders are starting to creep skyward again. “I know...I know that feminization still isn’t really accepted in the league. Okay, that’s an understatement.” It’s a common enough insult on the ice, to hear _femboy_ or for guys to threaten opposing subs with forced fem. Dynamic threats aren’t supposed to happen, but they still do. “But I just wanna tell you, I think that’s fuckin’ bullshit. Everyone should feel comfortable liking what they like. God knows it’s one of my favorite kinks. And you know what, I feel bad, because there’s probably some dude out there in the league that wants to do it, but has never felt like he could.”

Morgan’s giving him that look he gets when someone on the team does something shockingly mature. “Thanks, Mitch,” he says. “Yeah, I...you know, that means a lot, man.”

“Well, it’s how I feel.” Mitch pauses. “I guess I don’t feel too bad, though. Cause that means I got paired with you. And I don’t regret that at all.”

“Me neither,” Morgan says. He tilts his head at Mitch, like he’s considering his next words. “Mitch...uh, could I kiss you?”

“No,” Mitch says, and there’s a flash of disappointment but Mitch steps up to him. “No, cause I’m gonna kiss _you_ ,” he says, reaching up to cup Morgan’s jaw, pulling him in for that kiss.

Morgan grumbles for a moment at Mitch’s fake-out, but he quickly falls silent as the kiss deepens. Just like his hug, the kisses are good, too. They’re nice, Mitch thinks.

And then Morgan’s tongue swipes along his and - _nice_ is no longer the adjective Mitch would use, not at all. Electric, amazing, whatever it is it’s far better than just ‘nice,’ and Mitch wants more; he gently turns Mo so his back is to the bed, and with one small push Morgan obligingly shifts backwards to sit. One of the packing cubes from Morgan’s duffel slides to the floor as the bed dips, but neither of them pay it any attention. Mitch is too busy marveling that Morgan, as big as he is, is so pliant and obedient. He goes where Mitch wants him to with just a gentle touch.

That appeals immensely to his Dom hind-brain, that Morgan - big, strong Morgan, one of the leaders in the room - submits easily to Mitch’s demands without even a word needing to be said. “Good,” he manages to gasp out between kisses, and he can feel Morgan’s mouth curl up in a smile.

Mitch can hear another one of Morgan’s packing cubes slowly sliding towards the floor, and as good as the kiss is, he suddenly wants to see what’s in those cubes, more than anything. With some effort, he pulls away from the kiss, and is pleased to see that Morgan looks as pleasantly dazed as he feels. “Here’s what I’m thinking,” Mitch says. “You go to the bathroom and pick out something to wear. Anything, as much or as little as you want. Then come back out and show me. You can kneel for as long as you need. Maybe that’s it for today, but if we’re both feeling it - after that, I watch you jerk off. Mess up those pretty things of yours, just a little bit.”

Morgan swallows. Mitch can hear it, audible in the quiet room, can see his big Adam’s apple bob up and down as he does. “Okay,” he says. There’s a wild edge to it, not something that Mitch usually hears from him, usually so calm and in control. All Mitch can think of is that he wants _more._

“Good,” Mitch says, offering another quick kiss before stepping back. Morgan collects the packing cubes which have fallen to the floor, and takes himself and his duffel to the bathroom. Once the door shuts with a solid thunk, Mitch topples backward on the bed with a loud exhale.

He’s doing this. _They’re_ doing this. Morgan is just about to get dressed in something pretty, because Mitch asked him to, because Mitch wants it. Fuck yeah.

Mitch would be happy enough to have just about anyone that wasn’t an asshole in that bathroom getting ready for him, but the fact that it’s Mo makes it that much more exciting. Morgan is a special guy. Besides being a calm leader for the Maple Leafs (and Mitch always thought Mo deserved the ‘C,’ no offense to JT), he’s also hilarious, and fun to hang out with. Mitch loves Morgan, and he’s pretty sure everyone else does too - 

“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting straight up in a burst of nervous energy. He does love Morgan, but it’s always been in a…’I love you bro’ sort of way. The way you love your teammates that are married and not polygamous, or are fellow Doms. Mitch’s brain has always been good about picking out who is completely and utterly unavailable and making sure that love never goes past platonic. He’s never been the pining type.

But that same brain is now _helpfully_ supplying that Morgan is actually completely available. He’s not married. He’s not dating anyone. And he’s not a Dom. Moreover, his sub tendencies fall perfectly in line with Mitch’s preferences. He’s fucking perfect, Mitch’s traitorous brain has decided, and it’s already reached down into his heart - his weak, stupid heart - and squeezed it until it agreed. _He could be yours!_

“No he could not,” Mitch mouths to himself. Morgan is still a teammate, despite everything else, and people don’t date teammates.

... _most_ people don’t date teammates. Not like it’s never happened before, but - 

God, the Toronto media would go absolutely fucking nuts. So that’s why Mitch needs to stay professional. He owes it to Morgan to stay professional; he’s the Dom. Morgan has voluntarily given the power to him, and he cannot, will not abuse it.

_You could ask him if he -_

The bathroom door opens, and mercifully his brain shuts up for the moment, too caught up in his anticipation of seeing what Morgan picked out to wear. Mo lingers in the bathroom doorway for a moment, out of sight. Mitch can practically hear his nervous fidgeting. “Let me see you,” he calls out, gentle but firm.

Morgan exhales - Mitch can hear it from where he’s sitting - and then he steps around the wall.

“Shit,” Mitch whispers to himself. Morgan isn’t wearing heels or makeup, but he is dressed in a white-and-black chemise satin teddy. It’s a more conservative pick, long enough to cover down to almost mid-thigh so nothing racy can be directly seen. It’s clearly made-to-order; it fits perfectly, hugs every muscle and every curve of Morgan’s big body. Mitch can just barely catch a glimpse of the bulge in front as the chemise sways against him as he moves. “You’re beautiful,” he blurts out, unable to stop himself but not wanting to anyway.

Morgan lights up. “Yeah? It’s one of my favorites. I have some things that are a little, um, sexier. But.”

“But we’ve got time for that.” There’s a kneeling pillow on the bed, and Mitch reaches over, sets it on the floor between his legs. “Hey, gimme a twirl and let me see the back. Then you can come over and kneel.”

Morgan spins, the chemise fluttering as he turns. Mitch can see the curve of his ass against the fabric, can just barely see a hint of butt under peeking out from the bottom. “Bend over,” he encourages, and Morgan glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow lifted. “What, now you’re shy? C’mon, Mo. I want to see.”

“I don’t usually do this on the first date,” Morgan says, a touch of playful bravado breaking through his jittery nerves, but he does as asked and bends. Now Mitch can see the panties, the same pure white as the chemise, trimmed in black lace.

He can barely see any skin and yet, Mitch isn’t sure he’s ever seen anything hotter.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Mitch says, letting out a low whistle. Morgan stands and turns, and he’s got the same exasperated smile he uses when Mitch is teasing him, but there’s also a little blush curling around his ears that indicates he might just be enjoying the praise. “You wanna kneel for me now? I’d like that a lot, if you would.”

“I do. Yeah - definitely, I do.” Morgan says it like he was afraid Mitch wouldn’t ask, and in two long strides he’s between Mitch’s legs and sinking to the floor on the pillow.

It’s hard to forget how big Morgan is, here and on his knees in front of Mitch. Mitch has to spread his legs wide to accommodate his frame, which is sexy in a way he didn’t expect. “That’s good,” Mitch purrs, the voice he uses when he wants to put subs under and relax them, and sure enough Morgan goes a little more liquid. “That’s good. I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

Mo nods, and Mitch takes the opportunity to run his hands through his hair. It’s as long as Mitch has ever seen it, sticking out every which way from his helmet in practice, and although he - and most of the guys - have already teased Morgan about it...well, he finds that he really likes it. “Don’t let anyone talk shit about your hair,” Mitch says, keeping his voice soft and soothing. “I love it. It’s so sexy. _You’re_ so sexy, Mo. Even more like this, being so quiet and good for me on your knees, all dressed up. What a sweet g - “ Mitch pauses. Girl? It’s about half-and-half, in his experience, that some guys want female adjectives when they’re dressed like this, and others don’t.

“Boy,” Morgan murmurs. Somehow, Mitch isn’t surprised.

“Sweet boy,” he corrects himself. “So sweet. Just let go. I got you.”

Morgan slumps down even further, and Mitch can tell when he’s fully relaxed by the way his jaw unclenches, even hangs open just a little bit. Mitch keeps touching him throughout, not just his hair but along his face, down his neck, along his shoulders and tracing the teddy straps. Normally he’s content to just rest a hand on his sub’s head and let his own dynamic needs be fulfilled by an obediently kneeling sub, but right now Mitch can’t stop touching, and Morgan is making quietly encouraging noises that urge him on.

They stay like that for about thirty minutes, and Mitch is quietly marveling over how long Morgan’s eyelashes are as he sweeps his thumb along the ridgeline of Mo’s nose when Morgan lifts his head and gently nips at Mitch’s fingertip.

“Oh,” Mitch says, drifting his thumb down, and Mo bites it again. “You’re back?”

Morgan lifts his chin, and whereas most fresh-out-of-kneeling subs look pleasantly fuzzy - like waking up from a long nap - Morgan looks like he just woke up from 15 hours of sleep. He’s awake and focused, eyes sharp but body language still calm. “Mitch,” he says. “You asked me before, about - about jerking off? I think I’d like to.”

Mitch resists doing a fist pump, but it’s hard. “Scoot back. You can take the pillow with. I wanna see every inch of you while you’re doing it. Can you wait to come till I tell you?”

Morgan groans softly at the request, but he nods, backpedaling to the middle of the open area with the kneeling cushion and sinking back down. He was already half-hard from Mo kneeling for him, but now - with an amazing view of Mo on his knees in something so pretty, all riled up - he’d have to be fucking dead to not find this the sexiest thing he’s maybe ever seen. “Fucking hell, Mo,” Mitch sighs. “The better you make it, the sooner I come. And the sooner I come, the sooner _you_ get to come. Got it?”

“Yes, Mitch,” Morgan says obediently. He runs his hands down his sides, the satin making a nice swishing sound as he does it, and then he slowly lifts the front of the fabric to reveal his panties. His cock is hard enough that the head is poking up and out of the front. It’s a big dick inside a petite set of panties, and Mitch has to press the palm of his hand between his legs to try and calm down a bit. He’s not going to let Morgan come before him, and he certainly doesn’t want to make this easy for him.

Easing the panties just a few inches down his thick thighs is enough for Morgan’s cock to spring free from its satin confines, and Mitch inhales a sharp breath at the sight. “Yeah,” he encourages, and Morgan moans softly. The front of the panties are still heavy and straining, his balls trapped inside, but he lets them be as he takes himself in hand and slowly takes his first few strokes.

It’s fascinating to watch, how big his hand is, how gently he strokes himself, the way his thumb flicks up and over the head on each upstroke. “D’you like your nipples played with?” Mitch asks, somehow out of breath already. “They look so pretty in your bra. You like someone touching them? Look at me, Morgan. Tell me.”

There’s a flush creeping up Mo’s cheeks, and Mitch can’t tell if it’s humiliation or arousal. He isn’t sure until Morgan lifts his gaze; the look in Mo’s eyes sends something warm straight to his gut. Definitely excitement, he thinks, with maybe just a sexy touch of embarrassment. “Yes, Mitch. I like them played with,” he says. His voice already sounds a little strained.

“I can’t wait,” Mitch tells him. “God, Morgan, next time I’m gonna suck on them til you fucking scream. You can touch them now, if you want. With your free hand.”

“Okay,” Mo says, a low grumbly whisper in the back of his throat. When his hand comes up to span across the teddy’s cups - surprisingly filled out with Morgan’s pecs - Mitch is once again struck by how big he is. So big, but touching himself so delicately.

Mitch has never been particularly patient, and he’s not right now. He lifts his hips, shoving down his joggers, freeing his own hard cock. “Look what you do to me, Morgan,” he commands, and Mo looks up obediently to see. At the sight, he bites his lip and exhales sharply, hand stilling for a moment on his own cock as he takes in the sight.

“Mitch,” Morgan says, sounding about as helpless as Mitch has ever heard.

“Keep stroking yourself,” Mitch orders, and Mo’s hand quickly jumps back into action. “But you can watch me. You can know how much you drive me bonkers, cause - holy shit, Mo. You’re fucking beautiful.”

“Thank you, Mitch,” Mo says, sounding sweet and sincere, and Mitch reaches down and tugs on his cock. Fuck, he’s not gonna last long, not when he’s got, like, the best porn in the world in front of him.

He realizes a split-second too late that he doesn’t have a tissue, and he sure doesn’t want to get his shirt or joggers all messy - Gucci does make stain-resistant dynamic clothing, but this ain’t it - so he cups his hand around the head as he teeters on the edge. “Gonna come,” he grunts out to Mo. “Want you to watch.”

That’s a useless command, because Morgan has obediently kept his gaze on Mitch as they jerk themselves off, but he straightens up a little and nods. “Please, Mitch,” he says. His hand stills again on his dick, just a split-second, before remembering Mitch’s requirement and starting to stroke again.

“Fuck,” Mitch bites out, stifling back a moan as he comes, shooting into his hand. Moaning and groaning and whimpering is still seen as a little submissive, as dumb as it is. It’s just a shade too close to begging. It’s unfortunate, because Mitch has always been vocal when he comes, and he doesn’t think Morgan would care, but...god, he really wants to make a good impression.

He takes a moment to relax, clear his brain, come down from the pleasure high before turning a fresh look to Morgan. This whole time, Mitch had been impressed that he could jerk off with seemingly little frustration over not being able to come yet, but now Mitch is seeing the cracks in Morgan’s calm veneer: a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, a little shakiness that wasn’t there before. “Oh, you’re being a damn good boy,” Mitch praises. “You wanna come?”

Morgan nods. “Please?”

Mitch opens his palm, coated in come, and rubs his fingers together as the idea comes to him. “I want this on your face,” he says. “Want you to taste me while you come. Can I do it?”

They haven’t specifically negotiated it, so Mitch frames it like the question it is. He half expects Morgan to say no, but: “Okay,” he says, like the request is no big deal. “Just watch my eyes?”

“Those eyes are pretty important to me,” Mitch says, tucking himself back into his joggers and sliding off the bed to approach Morgan. Here, a little closer, Morgan is even more beautiful. Mitch can see the delicate details in the lace teddy, the way his fingers flex around his cock, how wet the head is. And the way Morgan has to tilt his head back and back and back to look Mitch in the eye - _Mitch_ is the tall one here, the way he’s never been before with Morgan, and god, he loves it. “See what you do to me,” Mitch says, gently smearing his come-covered palm across Morgan’s mouth and chin. He can feel Morgan’s tongue flick out against his palm, tasting him. “You like that?”

“Yes. Mitchy,” Morgan gasps against his hand, and something hot and urgent crawls up Mitch’s spine, even though he just got off.

“Yeah, Mo. That’s what you’re gonna call me, okay?”

“Yes - Mitchy, I - please, can I - “

“Yeah, you can come.” Mitch cups Morgan’s jaw, makes sure to keep their eyes locked. “Lemme see, pretty boy. Mess yourself up a little for me, huh?”

A whole-body shiver runs through Morgan, and as if on command, he’s shooting on his belly, getting the hem of the nighty wet. It dribbles down onto his panties, and Mitch can see those going damp as well. “Mitchy,” Morgan whines as the last few shudders of his orgasm play out.

“Fuck, Mo,” Mitch says, transfixed. “You’re - you’re fucking _beautiful.”_ He thinks he’s said that a couple times now, but every time he does it’s even more true.

Based on Morgan’s aftercare preferences, Mitch knows he likes to calm down slowly, so he lets Mo stay on his knees for a bit, rubbing his thumb along Morgan’s jaw, through the damp hair of his beard. Damp, yes - because of Mitch’s own come, and that’s a fucking lot to think about. Mo seems content to sit there and be petted for a long few moments before he shakes it off and lumbers to his feet. “Hey, I’m gonna go clean up a bit,” Mo says, and he turns to go.

Mitch almost reaches out to grab him, but stops himself in time and steps back, watching Morgan disappear into the bathroom. Normally, he’d never let his subs go through clean up alone. But that’s what Mo’s preference sheet says - calm down slow, then he likes a little bit of space, and a snack.

Well, Mitch can at least get him a snack. The hotel has a mini fridge already set up with food, all the typical offerings: granola bars, fruit, chocolate. There’s a single Reese’s cup in the back, so Mitch grabs that - he’s seen Morgan absolutely crush a peanut butter cup a few times - along with the blueberries and strawberries. Next time, he’ll be better prepared. He’s going to make sure to have all of Morgan’s favorites, Doritos and chocolate chip cookies for sure.

When Morgan emerges from the bathroom, he looks just like the same old Mo he always does, in his big hoodie and soft joggers. There’s nothing except Mitch’s memories - which he is never going to forget - to indicate what they just did. “Want a snack?” Mitch offers.

“Hell yeah I do,” Morgan says, making a beeline for the bed. “What do they have?”

Mitch indicates the options, and as he suspected, Morgan goes right for the Reese’s. It disappears in one bite into his mouth, and - maybe not for the first time - Mitch thinks about having that mouth on his dick. Then he promptly regrets thinking about it, because Jesus, he needs to fucking relax. This, what they have together right now, is a biological necessity of buddies helping each other out in unique circumstances. And despite him wishing it was more, it’s not, and he needs to stop making it weird.

While they eat, they chat quietly about safe topics: the team, the bubble, all the shit they wish they could do but can’t due to the pandemic. If Mitch selectively forgets the last hour or so, he can pretend this is totally normal. Morgan, for his part, doesn’t seem to need to forget. He’s the same old Mo as he always is; then again, he’s not the one with the stupid crush on his stupid best friend. “ - gonna go,” Mo says, blinking Mitch out of his reverie.

“Huh?”

Mo laughs, popping the last of the strawberries into his mouth. “I said, unless there’s anything else, I’m gonna go. Uh, should we figure out a time to meet next? Or just wing it?”

“You wanna wing it?” Mitch asks, skeptical. Morgan has never exactly been a wing-it kinda guy.

“I mean, I’d prefer to schedule it. Oh shut up Marns,” Mo says with a fond sigh. “How about we schedule it for two days out, same time, but if either of us need this tomorrow we’ll _‘wing it’_ and meet ad hoc.”

Ad hoc? Who uses that kind of term?

Morgan does. But that’s sort of why Mitch loves him. _Ugh_ , Mitch loves him. “Sounds perfect, Mo. You always have the best ideas.”

Mo gives him a look, searching for sarcasm, but smiles when he sees none. “That’s why you keep me around, Marns,” he says. ‘Marns’ is what Mo has always called him, but suddenly it just seems weird. Still, Mitch beams back. “Catch you for dinner?”

“For sure,” Mitch says, waving as Mo turns to go. He waits til the door closes before flopping back on the bed with a dramatic sigh.

Oh, man. He is super, turbo fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a [cute GIF](https://i.imgur.com/Pps6qsE.gifv) to start this chapter off :)

Back in his room, a quick search on the internet tells Mitch he is not the only idiot to have a sudden and blazing realization that he’s in love with his best friend, although - as Auston would probably say - that seems to be a very ‘Mitch thing’ to do, to snap from obliviousness to infatuation in the blink of an eye. Someone has attempted to coin the term ‘Switch Syndrome,' so maybe it could be worse; Mitch could be that guy trying to get that phrase off the ground instead. It’s awful.

But it also explains Mitch’s predicament pretty well, apparently one that is not unique to him. He finds testimony from men and women, Dom and sub alike, talking about finding out their friend is a switch and becoming immediately interested when they realize their dynamics match up in a way they didn’t expect. Unfortunately, Mitch also finds a lot of garbage commentary on the subject as well.

_But see this is why I don’t like switches,_ some asshole has written. _FFS be up front. Don’t just like surprise me with that info. It’s like every switch I know hides it. What are you hiding??? You know?_

_its cause they r sluts_ is the reply, and Mitch can feel his face heating as he reads. _nothing u do will ever be good enough for them. if ur a Dom, u think u can tame a switch? Hell Naw. that switch is gnna wanna dom someone in the future. then what u gonna do? u gonna sub for them? Fuck No. they r never gonna be satisfied with just u. stay away from switches!!!!!!_

There’s a part of Mitch that immediately knows it’s bullshit, but...but honestly, he doesn’t know a lot of switches. The dynamic is not very common. Biologically, _can_ a switch be happy exclusively Domming or subbing for the rest of their lives? Or are they always destined for a polygamous relationship? Mitch tries to think of Mo sharing his partners, sharing himself, and he can’t seem to do so. But maybe he doesn’t know Mo as well as he thought he did. It’s not like polygamy’s bad, after all. Just maybe not for Mitch.

This is all pointless speculation anyway, because Mitch is gonna be a bro and not make a move on his teammate. That would not be cool at any time, but especially not when they’re stuck in the bubble. He’s got a responsibility to not make things weird and by god he’s taking it seriously.

He’s also got a responsibility to get Mo’s favorite snacks for next time and he’s definitely going to do that.

A quick call to the concierge means that chocolate chip cookies and a selection of Doritos will be delivered to their dynamic space before their next tryst. (“Make sure to get the soft cookies. And the sweet chili Doritos. If you can,” Mitch tells the lady, and she promises to do her best.) Before he has time to ruminate any more, a frantic knocking on the door interrupts his thoughts.

It’s Auston. “Bro,” he says, as Mitch pulls open his door. “Did you hear?”

“Did I hear what?”

“Who Spezz ended up with?”

“How would I - “ He cuts himself off. _How would I have heard that_ , he was going to ask, but Auston is often oblivious to logistics and other practical questions. It’s not worth getting into with him. “No, man. Who is it?”

“Come to Player Lounge A in twenty minutes and you’ll hear all about it. Just wait bro, this is _good.”_

~~~~~

Player Lounge A is bustling with Leafs by the time Mitch walks in. Mo is there as well, chatting away with JT. He lifts his hand in a wave when he sees Mitch, and Mitch returns the gesture and prays to every god he knows that his face isn’t doing anything weird. Just seeing Mo in his boring-ass hoodie and joggers is doing something to him, even though he just got off like an hour ago.

_Just got off with Mo, in those panties -_

Jesus, he needs to chill the fuck out.

“Jealous motherfuckers,” Spezza is proclaiming in the corner, looking completely unimpressed at the gaggle of Leafs around him. “None of you would even know what to do with yourself if you got paired with him.”

“Paired with who?” Mitch asks the closest person, who happens to be Zach Hyman. “What’s going on?”

“Spezz got paired with Pierre-Luc Dubois,” Zach says. He looks amused. “And you know our idiot teammates, they’re freaking their shit out.”

“Wow, that’s kinda surprising,” Mitch says. The Blue Jackets are one of the few teams that tilt sub-heavy - and he’s certainly heard the commentators speculating that’s why the Jackets haven’t been successful, which is crap in Mitch’s view - but even so, he never expected PL to get paired with Spezz. “You figure they’d put Dubois with Foligno or something. It’s not like the Jackets have no Doms at all.”

Zach shrugs. “They might not have been compatible. I’m more surprised they put Spezz with a Blue Jacket. Whoever did this matchmaker stuff had to know we were playing them in the first round, right?”

“Guess they trusted that Spezz was going to be professional. I mean, he’s a veteran - “

“Wrong,” Auston says, and Mitch doesn’t know where the hell he came from but suddenly he’s right in their faces. He throws his arm around Mitch, looking gleeful. “The truth is that Spezz and PL share some weird fucking kink that nobody else does. Think about it. It makes perfect sense! Why else would they pair them up when we’re just about to play them? I’m starting up a betting pool as to what it is, you boys want in?”

“How the fuck you gonna figure out what it is?” Zach asks, shaking his head. “You think they’re gonna tell you? Just come right out and admit their kinks?”

Auston grins, winking at Mitch. “We’ll figure it out, Hyms, trust me. Hey Mo, you want in on this?”

Morgan is up getting a drink now, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Actually, he grabs two, heading over and handing one to Mitch with a smile. Mitch accepts, feeling like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. “Want in on what?” he asks Auston.

“Hey, where’s my water?”

“In the cooler,” Mo answers without missing a beat. “What am I wanting in on?”

“Betting pool for Spezz’s weird kinks with PL. Willy just took vomit, so sorry, that’s out,” Auston tells them. Mitch tries really hard not to kinkshame, but he knows he makes a face at that, and Auston bursts out laughing. “Right? My money’s on fem. Can’t you see PL in high heels?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Mitch blurts before he can help himself. He very, very carefully does not look at Morgan.

Auston opens his mouth, shuts it, gives Mitch a weird look. “I dunno. Uh, nothing? It’s just weird.”

“It’s only weird cause the NHL is shitty about it. You know what? Maybe their kink is cuddling. Wouldn’t that be just as ‘weird’?”

Zach hums. “Well that’s not really a kink but...I kinda get what you’re saying. Sometimes I think half our male fans at the games are wearing bras and panties under their jerseys, but it’s still this big deal for us, right?”

Mitch has never been more grateful for Zach Hyman in his life. “Exactly.”

“Okay but this isn’t supposed to be a political statement on what the league accepts,” Auston says. “And vomit is definitely weird, right? You gonna admit that?”

“Maybe we should let PL and Spezz do their thing in peace,” Mitch says.

“You’re no fun, Marns,” Auston says, turning on his heel and heading off. He finally catches a glimpse of Morgan, who is smiling.

Zach pats his chest, right where a letter would be on a jersey. “Look at this kid,” Zach tells Morgan. “Living up to his letter, huh? Maybe your influence finally rubbed off on him, Mo.”

“Always knew he had it in him,” Mo says, and Mitch’s stomach flip-flops. He smiles back, with entirely too much teeth, and then he heads off to find Freddy before he embarrasses himself even further.

~~~~~

The new bubble routine is odd, even without the added pressure and stress of suddenly realizing you’re in love with one of your best friends (seriously, why is Mitch’s life like this?). There’s testing, masks, being away from home, all the intrigue of half your teammates suddenly in dynamic situations together - or with a player on another team, in a few cases - and then hockey playoffs on top of that. Mitch gets asked a bunch of times who he’s been paired with, but he defers every time. He’s going to respect Mo’s privacy unless they agree otherwise that the team can know.

The Leafs play the Canadiens in the exhibition game, meant to get everyone back on their feet and up to game speed. Mitch feels rusty, and playing in a huge, empty arena takes a little getting used to. But everyone’s in a good mood, even the Habs, who chat and joke with them throughout the game all the way up until the very end when the Leafs take the lead. There’s not too many smiles from the Canadiens after that.

Mitch doesn’t feel very effective during the game, but Mo has two assists and a beauty of a goal. Afterwards, they award the player of the game as usual, and Mitch is already thinking about what reward he’s going to give Morgan for his performance when the award basketball gets handed to Kerfy.

Kerfy had two goals so he deserves it almost as much, and Mo doesn’t look perturbed that the award is going to someone else, but Mitch thinks it’s a shame. In his mind, two assists, a goal, and a beast defensive effort is more worthy than two goals. But he doesn’t get a say, so he claps and cheers and congratulates Kerfy along with the rest of them.

He catches up with Mo after they’re dressed and walking back to the hotel - yet another thing Mitch is getting used to. “Hey,” he says, jogging up to Mo and nudging him. “Dude, what a performance out there. You killed it.”

“Ah, it doesn’t even count, eh?”

“Oh please,” Mitch says, even though Morgan is technically correct. “Don’t give me this humble crap. You look like you haven’t missed a beat. I felt rusty as shit.”

“Nah, you looked great out there. It’ll come back fast.” Morgan grins. “Let’s just do that again versus the Jackets, and we’ll be golden.”

“That’s the plan,” he says. A couple of their teammates are close by now, laughing and talking, and Mitch waits until they move past to speak again. “So, uh…”

“Hmm?”

Come on Mitch, you’re the Dom here, spit it out. “Are we still on for, like. Y’know?” Nope, try that shit again. “Our meeting. Dynamic stuff. Tomorrow, right?”

“Tomorrow.” A frown ripples through Morgan’s expression. “Unless you needed to reschedule?”

“No!” Mitch says, loud enough that Hyms glances backwards at them, eyebrows up. Mitch waves him off. “No,” he says again, quieter this time. “I really, um, it’s gonna be good. I could use it. You deserve something awesome for what you did tonight. I know they didn’t give you the basketball, but maybe I can give you something else.”

Mitch is just reflecting on how cheesy that sounds when Morgan laughs. “I’ll have to wear something special then,” he says with a wry grin and a wink, and Mitch thinks his heart might have stopped.

“You can’t just - you can’t just say shit like that, Morgan Rielly,” he hisses, his voice an embarrassing squeak. Mo laughs again and claps him on the back, and Mitch just hopes he can find a way to sleep tonight.

~~~~~

Mitch is on his way to the Tim Horton’s truck in the morning when he spots Morgan, wrapped up in his typical hoodie and joggers. Even with a mask on, Morgan is easy to recognize. “Hey,” Mitch calls, waving. He did sleep last night, no thanks to Morgan’s promises, but he’s still tired.

Morgan has bags under his eyes too, exacerbated by the mask. “Hey Marns. Got you a - “ He hefts up one of the cups, and Mitch realizes he’s holding two of them, along with a box of Timbits.

“Thanks Mo,” Mitch says, taking the cup gratefully. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

“You and me are both in the ‘fuck mornings’ club, I knew you’d need some caffeine. God knows I do.” Morgan yawns, evident even under the mask. “Wanna help me eat the Timbits?”

They sequester themselves into one of the meeting rooms and remove their masks to pop the donuts into their mouths. Outside, through the glass, a group of players - Mitch is pretty sure it’s Carolina - passes by, masked up and talking loudly. Turns out, Sebastian Aho is still pretty recognizable through a mask, but everyone else… “Is it just me, or do you not recognize like, half the people with masks on?”

“I had someone wave to me yesterday and had no idea who they were,” Morgan admits. “I still waved back, but I was totally clueless.”

“You’re always clueless,” Mitch smirks, and gets a Timbit thrown at his head for the trouble. “Hey! Waste of a good donut, bud!”

“Worth it,” Morgan says.

“You didn’t even hit me - “ Mitch’s attention is drawn away by another couple of guys walking down the hall. These aren’t more Hurricanes, Mitch is pretty sure; in fact, they’re all pretty recognizable even with masks. Seth Jones is obvious by his skin tone, Cam Atkinson by his height, and next to them is Pierre-Luc Dubois, recognizable by...well, a lot of things. Mitch has met PL a number of times and would be lying if he didn’t fantasize at least once about getting him on his knees. PL catches his eye, gives him a nod, and then they’re gone.

“So Dubois and Spezz,” Morgan mutters, obviously having noticed Dubois as well, popping another Timbit in his mouth. “Seems like a nice kid, but glad I didn’t end up with the enemy, personally. Still, if anyone can handle that…”

“It’s Spezz,” Mitch finishes, nodding. “Um, I thought it was kind of shitty, what our teammates were saying earlier.”

Morgan shrugs, passes the last Timbit to Mitch. “They’re just excitable idiots sometimes. I don’t think anyone means to be shitty, they just don’t think about what comes out of their mouths. Besides, you know hockey culture. It’s like...everywhere. You gotta try hard to break out of it.”

“I’m trying.”

“I can tell,” Morgan says, and flashes him a smile, a genuine and brilliant thing that he doesn’t use often that practically makes Mitch melt. It doesn’t last too long, turning into a small frown. “If I have to hear one more reporter talk about how many subs the Jackets have…”

“And how we’re supposed to beat them just because of that,” Mitch says, rolling his eyes. “It’s so dumb. I mean, we _are_ gonna beat them, just not because of that.”

“Yeah, we are.” Morgan carefully packages up the Timbits box and throws it away. “Ready to go get our brain poked?” he asks. “Make sure none of the Habs gave us COVID?”

“If anyone would, it’s those jerks,” Mitch agrees. “Alright, let’s go.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, some [cute stuff](https://www.instagram.com/p/CLhvbX3h1PU/?igshid=m48pfhxljv41&fbclid=IwAR25i3tneuoUQGdN-IGVMdxOVHMiNs8ZwbsldOFBVRxNZ5YDIRgm8ELvinI) from our boys!
> 
> Second: for the first time ever, I am participating in a fan works auction! [Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fth2021offerings.dreamwidth.org/109137.html) offers the bidder's choice of a variety of charities. You bid money, it all goes to a great cause, and I write basically anything you want. I hope you'll consider bidding on either myself or any of the great authors up for auction this year. Bidding ends Friday!

Nobody has COVID, thank god, and practice goes well. Mitch even manages not to be terribly distracted, because he’s a Grown Up Professional that can focus on work and hockey and not about what’s in his pants, or more precisely what’s in Morgan’s pants, or more precisely than that what’s in Morgan’s panties. That said, the second they’re released from video review, it’s hard to think about anything else besides their upcoming tryst.

He tries, but it’s hard.

Their designated time to meet draws closer, and Mitch heads to their meeting room, determined to be a little early. He’s got the snacks that the concierge brought, so he wants to set those up, and he’s got a few ideas for their scene today that require some pre-planning. But when he arrives, stepping into the room, the bathroom door is closed and lit up inside, and Mitch can hear movement. “Morgan?” he calls, shutting the door behind him.

“Marns?” Morgan sounds surprised, even through the door. “Shit, what time is it?”

“1:48.”

“We’re not meeting til two. Mitch, are you... _early?”_

“Hey,” Mitch protests. “I can hear the surprise in your voice, Mo. Yes I’m early. I can be early! I have stuff to set up. Why are you here?”

“It takes time to look good,” Mo says, and Mitch can hear that - is that _sass?_ \- come through in his tone. “Trying to be ready for you, bud.”

“Well, take your time, but just know that as soon as you step out, the scene starts. ‘Kay?”

“Got it.”

Mitch puts the snacks in the fridge, moving aside a bunch of Mounds candy bars to make room ( _Mounds?_ Not even Almond Joys? Mitch doesn’t know who he pissed off, but he’s going to try harder) and then sets out the rest: his favorite lube, the nipple clamps that Morgan eyed up the first day, a few small vibrators. He’s got a small coil of rope, too; shibari isn’t either of their favorites, and Mitch strongly prefers his partners stay where he puts them based on willpower alone, but if Morgan wants it, it’s here.

His attention is drawn to the bathroom door creaking open. “Ready for me?” Mitch asks, situating himself on the bed to face towards Morgan’s inevitable entrance.

Just like last time, Mitch can hear Morgan’s soft inhale and exhale. He still radiates an aura of anxiety, Mitch can feel it from here, but...maybe less nerves than before, just a little more comfortable. “Ready, Mitchy,” Morgan says, and then steps out into the room.

Mitch gasps. He can’t help it. Morgan towers over him, especially since Mitch is sitting on the bed - but even if Mitch were standing he’d be comparatively short, because Morgan is wearing heels today. He walks tall and confident in them, no wobbling or unsteadiness. That means he wears them enough to get used to them; Mitch is pretty sure he’d be flat on his face by now.

His outfit is a little more risque than the conservative babydoll choice from last time, although he’s still fully covered. It’s all black this time, from heels to bra: thigh-highs, panties, a tight corset that hides his nipples. There are a few bows running down the corset, shockingly white against the dark fabric of the rest of the outfit. “Wow,” Mitch says. He usually tries to butter his subs up, pump their tires a little, but he doesn’t need to fake anything right now. “Mo, you are so fucking sexy.”

Mo’s smile is brilliant. “Thanks, Mitchy. Did this for you.”

_Fuck yeah you did._ “You do what I ask?”

“Oh, the plug?” Mo pivots on his heel, bends over just slightly. Jesus, Mitch doesn’t know how he makes it look so smooth in shoes like that. He can see just the barest outline of it through Morgan’s panties. “Hard to see, but it’s in, I promise.”

“Yeah, you’re a good boy, I believe you. What didja think about, putting it in? Did it feel good?”

Morgan visibly hesitates as he spins back around to face Mitch. “I don’t get to sub a lot,” he admits, speaking slowly. “I’m usually topping. So my first thought was that I sort of missed having a plug in, cause it’s been awhile. And then I thought of you, and my outfit. I needed to make sure it matched.”

The plug is black, Mitch remembers that much. His brain is sort of broken on one part, however. “You thought of me?”

“Is that okay?”

“Oh my god, yes,” Mitch says. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day.” Well, he didn’t really want to admit that, but there it is, out to the world.

Morgan doesn’t look weirded out by that, though. “Good,” he says instead. He almost looks...smug. Just the tiniest bit of sass. Mitch likes it. He likes it a lot.

For as sexy as Morgan looks, however, it does present a problem. His outfit is skin tight, and the panties are unable to be removed due to the thigh-highs. Morgan has a lot of clothes to take off if Mitch wants to get to the good stuff, made from a lot of delicate fabric. God, he really doesn’t want to rip those fishnet thigh-highs. It must be so hard to get stuff like this when you’re Morgan’s size - 

Wait.

The idea comes in a flash. “You ready to hear what I want you to do today?” Mitch asks. “Before I tell you, do you need to kneel at all? Get into the right headspace?”

Morgan shakes his head quickly. “I’m there,” he says, and that’s right - Mitch remembers last time, there was no fuzzy-looking subspace with Morgan. Clear eyes all the way.

“Well Mo, you put on a lovely outfit for me, and I’m really impressed,” Mitch says. “But it definitely makes it hard for me to play with your nipples or give you an orgasm, and I wanna do both those things very much. So you’re gonna have to strip for me. But I want you to make it sexy.”

Morgan blinks, tilts his head. “Like a striptease? Mitchy, I...you’ve seen me dance.”

“Yeah I have, but I’ve never seen you strip, have I? Hey now, hey.” Mitch stands up, and in a few steps he’s in front of Morgan. God, he’s even taller here somehow than he seemed when Mitch was sitting; he needs to tilt his head up, up, up to look into Morgan’s soft blue-grey eyes, currently full of doubt. He sets his hands on Morgan’s hips, caressing his thumb over the smooth silk. “Mo, I swear you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll keep making fun of your dancing, but I damn sure won’t make fun of this. I’m gonna be way too into it to do that.”

Mo’s body language changes at the reassurance, and it’s subtle, but Mitch notices it all: his shoulders go back, the crease in his forehead smoothes out, his eyes soften. “Okay, okay,” he says. “So is this like stripper rules? Cause I think you’re violating those right now if so.”

“No,” Mitch says, spanning his fingers further along the corset. “I wanna touch. Tell me where I can touch you, Morgan.”

Morgan looks down to where Mitch’s hands are spread, then back up to Mitch’s face, licking his lips. “Everywhere,” he says quietly.

“Good. And I can kiss you?”

“Yes, Mitchy.”

“Good boy. My sexy boy,” Mitch says. He reaches up for Morgan, and Mo just goes, easy as that, leaning down so Mitch can kiss him. He can put Morgan’s big body anywhere, Mitch realizes, and he’ll do it, and that sends something hot and molten down his spine as they kiss. God, he wants to touch everywhere, just like Morgan said he could, but - 

Mitch isn’t the most patient man in the world, but he’s had to learn, both on the ice and here in the bedroom. He thinks waiting will make it that much better, so he steps back, licks his lips. “Let’s see it then,” he says. “Wait! Let me turn on some music for you.”

“Pick something good, eh?”

Mitch scoffs, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his Spotify selections. “As if I wouldn’t. Also, come on, there’s exactly one best stripping song and we all know it.” Ah, there it is - ‘Pony’ by Ginuwine. A true classic, and Mitch grins as he starts it up. “The floor is yours.”

A quick, dubious exhale of breath is all the disagreement that Morgan gives him, barely heard over the quiet music. He seems to struggle with how to start, standing there blinking for a few bars of the song, but then he closes his eyes, really seems to listen to the beat, and starts swaying his hips. And it’s - 

Well, objectively, it’s kind of awful. Morgan has no rhythm, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Somehow, Mitch is still into it, because he’s hopeless; but then Morgan turns around, still swaying, and: “Jesus, that ass,” Mitch blurts out. It’s fucking obscene seeing Mo’s ass and thick thighs swishing back and forth in black panties and lace, and every time he moves Mitch can see the outline of the plug base. More than anything, he wants to touch it. “Get over here, Mo.”

Morgan glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow cocked, and then - god - shimmies himself backward in those high heels, until he’s standing right in front of Mitch, within touching distance. “You can,” he says softly, and hell yes, Mitch _will._

Morgan’s ass feels amazing through the panties, and Mitch cups it tight, lifting his hands only when Morgan slowly wiggles down the thigh-highs. He steps out of his heels far dantier than Mitch would ever have expected, and then they’re off, and Morgan turns so Mitch can see him untying the corset. His big fingers pluck nimbly at the delicate ribbon, and Mitch finds himself fascinated as the ties slowly loosen, Morgan pulling them from their eyelets one-by-one. He gets only halfway done before Mitch grabs his hips, yanks Morgan onto his lap.

“Whoa,” Morgan says, trying to pull back, but Mitch holds him firmly. Yeah, he’s a little heavy, he’s a big fucking boy, but he wants every single inch and pound of Mo right now.

“You told me I could touch,” Mitch says. “I’m damn sure gonna touch.” Morgan’s corset is hanging open enough that his nipples are peeking out, and Mitch shifts the corset out of the way so he can get at one, gently sucking, which draws a startled cry out of Morgan. It’s not a bad cry though, just surprised, and it fades into a low groan, so Mitch is pretty sure Morgan likes it. He pulls back just a moment to say, “I thought you were gonna dance for me, Mo. What, are you distracted? Never given a lap dance?”

“Mitchy,” Morgan says, exhaling hard as Mitch gives the same treatment to the other nipple, and then finally he starts moving, grinding his hips against Mitch’s. He’s blatantly and obviously hard in the panties, and Mitch brings his hand down to cup Morgan through the fabric, rubbing his palm there, which draws a fresh groan out of Morgan. “Mitchy,” he says again, this time barely more than a whisper.

Abruptly, Mitch pulls away his mouth and hands - he does love getting his subs riled up and then leaving them to whine - although he knows he won’t be able to keep his hands to himself for long. He does enjoy Morgan’s shuddering, disappointed sigh, however. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of letting such a beautiful boy hanging,” Mitch says. “But you’re still a little too dressed for my tastes.”

“You’re distracting,” Morgan says, and Mitch reaches up, grabs his jaw, yanks Morgan so close that they’re sharing the same breath.

“You haven’t seen distracting yet,” Mitch tells him, so close that their mouths brush on every word. He puts his full Dom voice into it, and is gratified when Morgan’s eyes go wide, jaw slackening under his hand. “Now, you gonna be good and keep stripping for me?”

“Y-yeah,” Morgan says, just a hint of stutter in his answer. “Of course, Mitchy.”

“Good boy,” Mitch says, giving him a quick kiss, grinning when Morgan leans forward an inch to chase Mitch’s mouth. God, that’s as fucking satisfying as scoring a big goal. “Keep going, then.”

He makes quick work of the corset which is already half off, letting it fall to the floor, ribbons trailing behind it. Now the only thing left is the panties, and Morgan cups himself through the fabric, the front of the undies heavy with his hard cock, before fitting his fingers under the elastic waistband. He plays with it a moment, gently tugging out but not down, a tease if there ever was one, before turning around and sliding his hands along his legs. The panties come with - down, down, down until they’re a puddle on the floor, and all Mitch sees is Morgan’s thick ass and the plug nestled there.

Times like these, Mitch wishes desperately that Morgan didn’t have sex as a hard limit. He wouldn’t think of pushing that, but god, a boy can dream. Still…

There are other things that can be done. “I want you to put your heels back on,” Mitch tells him, “And then I want you on your back, on the bed. Legs up in the air for me.”

Morgan moves quickly to obey, and Mitch clicks off the music, ‘Pony’ in its ending bars anyway. When he looks up from his phone, Morgan is already exactly where Mitch wants him: splayed on the bed, knees up and against his chest, his heels two sharp twin points in the air. He looks serene and pleased, awaiting his next instructions.

“Good boy,” Mitch praises, trailing his hand down Morgan’s body, from his broad shoulder down his chest and up his thigh to the high heel. The knowledge that he can touch like this, can touch anywhere on Morgan’s body, this casual ownership - even if just for the hour - is a heady thing to Mitch. “I know I promised you something good. So I’m gonna give you the best blowjob you ever had, and then I’m gonna fuck your thighs.”

Morgan licks his lips. “Mitchy, I...yeah. Please.”

‘Best blowjob you ever had’ might be a bit of an exaggeration, although Mitch is _damn_ good at giving BJs, and he knows it. That’s especially true for subs: so many Doms out there don’t give oral, and Mitch has been more than one submissive’s very first oral orgasm, which he thinks is a damn shame. But Morgan Doms too, he remembers, and Mitch is willing to bet he’s gotten a lot of blowjobs. Still, he thinks his is gonna stack up pretty well. Mitch certainly won’t lack for enthusiasm, he knows that much.

He can’t fucking wait to get his mouth on Morgan’s dick. Even better that they’ve all been subjected to a battery of STD tests alongside their COVID ones, and condom use wasn’t something Morgan indicated as required on his sheet, so Mitch gets to do this raw. It’s a rare treat. He’s not going to waste this opportunity.

Morgan keeps his legs closed when Mitch climbs up on the bed, playfully coquettish, but that just gives Mitch the opportunity to grab his thighs and spread them himself. Morgan opens up easily under Mitch’s touch, his legs parting wide, the heels hovering near Mitch’s head. “Spread open and unwrapped all for me, huh,” Mitch says, more of a statement than a question. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

“Am I?” The question seems to escape Morgan’s mouth before he can pull it back, and he looks alarmed.

“Fuck yes you are,” Mitch says, squeezing Morgan’s thighs, can feel the tension there unwind. “I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you since you walked in looking like the sexiest thing I ever seen. How could I not? I’m the luckiest guy in this hotel, to have this underneath me right now, ready to do anything I say. You gonna do what I say, Mo?”

“Yes, Mitchy. Of course.”

“Then here’s what I want you to do.” Mitch leans down, drapes his body along Morgan’s to speak in his ear. “You’re gonna lay here and enjoy every single thing I do to you, and then I’m gonna fuck those big thick pretty thighs of yours and you’re gonna squeeze around me while I do it and we’re both gonna have amazing orgasms.”

“Do you want me...still? Quiet? I saw the ropes...”

Most Doms do like that stuff, and Mitch likes it sometimes too, but: “Nah. I wanna _wreck_ you, Mo, and I wanna hear you fall apart.”

The swallow Morgan makes is audible. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Good boy,” Mitch says again, and he slides down Morgan’s body, back between his legs, but then pauses at his chest. He’s not going to have the patience to spend too much time up here, but he can’t resist a quick scrape of his teeth along both nipples, enjoys the feel of Morgan shuddering under his hands, the loud exhale of breath he gives.

Exhale of breath? Oh, now it’s a fucking challenge. Mitch wants to make Morgan _scream._

Next time, Mitch thinks as he slides down Morgan’s body - next time, he’s going to pay more attention to Morgan’s chest, see how far that really goes. For now he keeps going, kissing down Morgan’s stomach until he gets to the main event. Fuck it, he doesn’t want to wait any longer; without preamble, he opens his mouth, sucks on the tip.

_“M - “_ A sharp ‘mmm’ is all that Morgan gets out, like he’s trying to say ‘Mitch’ but stifling it, and Mitch lifts his head.

“Mo. What did I tell you?”

“Um. That I could...move? And...talk?”

Mitch nods. “Uh huh. You holding back on me, Mo? When I specifically told you not to?”

“No, Mitchy!” Morgan’s eyes are big and round. “I’ll do better.”

“I know you will,” Mitch says, patting Morgan’s thigh, and when he bends down to suck again, this time he’s gratified to hear his name out of Morgan’s mouth. It’s soft, but it’s there.

Good. Now he wants more.

Just like every other part of him, Morgan’s big here too, and he fills Mitch’s mouth quickly; he lets the spit foam and drool down the length, being sloppy about it, just to hear Morgan’s quiet gasps and groans, carefully listening to what draws the loudest reactions. A heavy shudder runs through him when Mitch carefully squeezes his balls, and - well, he can work with that. He pulls off Morgan’s cock and goes to work on them, sucking each into his mouth in turn, licking, kneading, doing it again -

And again - 

And again, until Morgan is fighting not to twist underneath him. His heels clack together above Mitch’s head as his legs jerk and tremble. “Mitchy - fuck, _Mitchy,”_ he whines, actually _whines_ , and Mitch grins, both gratified and immensely turned-on by the pleas. “If you’re gonna keep doing that, please - my hands, I need help to be good.”

“Oooh,” Mitch says, licking up Morgan’s cock while he lifts his head. “You gonna be bad, Mo? Grab my head, try and take what you haven’t been given, eh?”

Mo shakes his head, eyes closing. “I’m trying. I’m just not used to…”

Of course; Mo’s a switch, and he probably hasn’t been teased and edged until he screams too often. Edging wasn’t on his limits list, but it wasn’t on his best likes, either. To tell the truth, Mitch hadn’t come here expecting to tease Morgan, but it’s been intriguing. Still, he wants that orgasm for Mo anyway. “Of course you’re not. I owe you that reward anyway, Mo. No more teasing, but...keep being vocal, eh?”

Morgan nods silently, in direct contrast to directions about being vocal, before seemingly realizing and amending it. “Yes Mitchy,” he says, an eager note in his voice.

He keeps his promise while Mitch blows him; he’s not showy like so many subs are, but Mitch thinks he likes this better, because he knows every noise he pulls out of Morgan is genuine. He never does get that scream he wanted, but Morgan lets out a short, plaintive cry when he comes, so Mitch will take that as a win, and he comes up grinning.

Morgan smiles back, sated, but suddenly snaps to attention and snags a Kleenex from the box on the bedside dresser, holding it out for Mitch. “Don’t need one,” Mitch says, opening his mouth. “You think I’m gonna blow you and not swallow? Fuck, Mo, you’re delicious.”

“Oh,” Morgan says. “Oh,” he says again, smiling brilliantly and tossing the crumpled Kleenex back on the bedside dresser. “Okay. Mitchy, can you fuck my thighs now?”

“If you’re so eager for it, why don’t you get the lube and get yourself ready for me.” Hell, Mitch is eager for it, but he doesn’t want to show that. He watches as Morgan twists to grab the lube sitting next to the tissues, uncaps it, slathers a generous slick down his thighs. “That’s it. Don’t be shy about using it. I want them just as wet as you are. How wet are you, Mo?” He slides his hand down to the big plug inside Morgan, jostles it just enough to draw a whimper.

“I soaked my panties for you, Mitchy,” Morgan says, and Mitch thinks maybe he’s dead after that, died and gone to heaven, because it’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to him.

He can’t fuck Morgan, but Mo said fingers were alright. “Yeah? Be a damn shame if I didn’t get to feel,” Mitch says, breathless to his own ears. He twists the plug inside Morgan before pulling on it, watches with fascination as more and more of it appears from Mo’s body, until the whole thing is out with an audible slick pop.

“Mitchy,” Morgan gasps, his hand stilling from where he’s slicking his thighs as Mitch presses a thumb to his rim, feels it flutter against his fingertip. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah,” Mitch agrees, circling his thumb. “Been thinking about this tight ass all day. You’re so wet but still - “ He pulls his thumb away, but only so he can press his index finger inside; it slides right in, easy as anything. “Still so tight, babydoll.”

“Mitchy,” Morgan whispers. He starts moving his hand again, but it’s obvious he’s having some difficulty keeping his attention on the matters at hand.

He doesn’t want to torture Mo too much, but he can’t help but twist his finger against Morgan’s prostate just to hear him moan. Something to be explored another time, Mitch thinks as he withdraws his finger, climbs off the bed to undress. God, what if the Leafs make a real run at it this year? He could get weeks of this - _months_...as if Mitch wasn’t motivated enough already.

Morgan finishes prepping his thighs while Mitch undresses, and even after Mo’s ready, he takes a moment to just stand back and look at the man waiting for him on the bed. The heels really do something for the look, making it about a thousand times hotter than it already is. “Mitchy?” Morgan calls softly, and that spurs Mitch into action, climbing back onto the bed.

“Just looking at my sexy boy,” Mitch tells him, leaning down for a kiss, which Morgan smiles into. The possessive feels good in Mitch’s mouth. _My_ sexy boy.

It’s just for the scene, but still.

Mitch has fucked a few thighs before, but all of them were women, and this is so different. Morgan’s skin isn’t quite as soft, and he hasn’t shaved, so it’s hairy; but Mitch finds himself sort of liking the texture, just a little bit of grit versus the slippery-smoothness of women. Plus, Morgan is just big. When Mitch slides between his legs, Morgan’s thigh goes and goes and seemingly never ends, not like women’s legs where he sometimes pokes out the other side. Nobody’s dick is big enough to fuck to the other side of Morgan’s legs.

And - most of all, fuck - Mo can _squeeze._

“Feels so good,” Mitch praises, dropping down a few inches so he can rub against Morgan while he’s thrusting. One of the thrusts catches right against Mo’s soft cock, and he shivers. “Just keep squeezing for me, okay?”

Morgan nods, bites his lip, keeping his gaze locked on Mitch. It’s surprisingly intimate for something that isn’t penetration; Mitch gets the feeling that Morgan is studying him just as much as Mitch is doing the same. Morgan is lovely like this, even prettier than when he was in his lingerie: freshly off his orgasm, long hair tousled, a nice rosy flush high on his cheeks, a beautifully sated look on his face.

It doesn’t take long for Mitch to come, taking himself in hand and giving a few quick jerks, all over Morgan’s slick thighs. As he sits back with a sigh, he notices one of Morgan’s heels is askew from the sex, and Morgan laughs as Mitch sets it right. “Ticklish?”

“A little,” Morgan says, then gives Mitch a warning look. “Don’t you dare.”

“Maybe I will, if you’re really bad,” Mitch threatens playfully, and Morgan scoffs.

“I am always good,” he declares, pushing himself to sitting. Just like before, Mitch has to watch him head off to the bathroom - he does it in his heels this time - and it’s a nice view, but there’s a sharp pang of regret. Mitch wants to be the one to wipe him clean, to help him get dressed, but he has to respect Morgan’s wishes, so instead he pulls out the food he’s brought, gets himself dressed, and waits.

As always, Morgan emerges in his joggers and hoodie combo, but he lights up when he sees the food. “My favorites,” he says, ticking his voice up in a question.

“Yeah, that’s no accident bud,” Mitch tells him, offering him a cookie, which Morgan devours in two bites. “I remember what you like.”

“Thanks Marns,” Morgan says, and that’s a clear indication of the scene being over if Mitch ever did hear it, calling him ‘Marns.’ “Oh shit, sweet chili Doritos!”

“All for you,” Mitch says, handing them over, and Morgan tears into the bag and sits heavily next to Mitch on the bed as he eats, loudly crunching the chips.

“Sorry,” he says after the second handful, offering the bag over. “I get so hungry after a scene.”

“You’re always hungry,” Mitch teases, poking his stomach, and Morgan bats his hand away and laughs.

“Fuck you,” he says, fondly, and they lapse into silence, the crinkle of the chip bag loud in the room. Morgan sets aside the chips after they’ve devoured most of the bag, swallows loudly. “Hey, just wanna, uh...say thanks, again. This has been really good. Sometimes it’s nice being taken care of, you know?”

Only sometimes? Mitch bites his lip and nods; well, Mo’s a switch, after all. Of course it’s only ‘sometimes.’ “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t wanna, but how did you even discover this kink?”

“Ooh, that’s a question.” Morgan eats a cookie before he answers. “I didn’t grow up wanting it. Never thought about it, really, until a few years ago when I hooked up with a guy. Big sub dude, almost as big as me, and when I took him home, he was wearing lingerie under his clothes. Cute panties, a lacy bra. I didn’t really know what to think, but he ended up leaving them both at my place. Hell, maybe he knew something about myself that I didn’t, maybe it was a mistake, but I’ll be honest, Marns, I totally tried them on. I didn’t even have his number, so there’s no way I could have gotten them back to him anyway. I never really felt attractive growing up, but when I put on that lingerie, man. I felt so hot.”

Mitch almost blurts out his disbelief - Morgan doesn’t think he’s _attractive?_ \- but he manages to keep a calm head. “Wow,” he says instead, not trusting himself to articulate further without blowing his cover.

“It’s hard to describe the feeling,” Morgan continues. “It’s like, I put this stuff on and I go from _this,”_ he gestures to himself, “to the sexiest dude you ever seen. Like everyone in the whole world wants me. And y’know, they feel pretty nice, too.”

“I mean, I think you’re not too shabby outside of lingerie,” Mitch says carefully. “Like, you’re a hot guy, Mo.”

“Well thanks,” Morgan says, shrugging as if he doesn’t quite believe it. “The lingerie just makes me confident in that fact, is all. Hey, speaking of. I was thinking for next time maybe...you could pick my outfit?”

Mitch sits up a little straighter, not even bothering to hide his enthusiasm. “Really?”

“Sure. If you want.”

“Hell yeah,” Mitch says. “Anything?”

“Anything I brought,” Morgan says. “It’s all in the bathroom. Figure you could arrive a little early next time, pick what you want, have it hanging up for me when I get here. Actually, I’ll go lay it out for you now, so if you wanted to stop by another time and check out your options, you can.”

“I can help,” Mitch offers as Morgan stands up and stretches, but he shakes his head.

“That’s alright. I got it. See you tonight for dinner?”

“Totally,” Mitch says, and then Morgan’s off to the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with a very final click.

That’s that, he supposes, casting a last sidelong look at the bathroom as he leaves. He’d trade all the lingerie in the world, he thinks, for the opportunity to cuddle Morgan through his aftercare.

But that’s not going to happen, so he’ll take what he can get.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh you know, just Mitch [ignoring everyone else](https://mooriellys.tumblr.com/post/637968354339176448/brandoncarlo-otp-mitch-goals?fbclid=IwAR3ifVA4JIt3yBgN2K43UFL0BWdv7wUZf3Peo5KkCXnd0Acfsbd-3y2z_Y0) to get a hug from Mo, no big deal.

“It’s gameday!” Muzz howls as he gets into the locker room, looking pumped as ever, and Mitch glances up at his big grin and feels that same joy deep in his bones. Finally, the postseason is starting.

The thing about the bubble is...well, Mitch isn’t going to complain, because it brought him and Morgan together, but quite frankly it’s boring. You go to practice, and then to the same couple places every day for lunch with your teammates, then back to your hotel room, then you hang out with those same teammates in that same hotel...again and again. Mitch knows he’s lucky, all things considered, but it’s like a bad Groundhog Day remake sometimes.

Except for those days with Morgan. All the more reason to look forward to them.

He’s sure he’s not the only one keeping one eye on both Spezz and Dubois in the warm-ups; will there be any recognition? It is an awkward situation. Both of them seem to make the best of it, though. Spezz acts completely normal - relaxed, chatting, going through his routine - and Dubois resolutely does not stare over at the Leafs’ side of the ice, but Mitch doesn’t know if that’s unusual or not. They don’t acknowledge each other in any way.

Probably for the best.

About halfway through the game, with the score knotted at zero, he ends up in a small scrum in front of Freddie. It’s the kind that breaks out five or ten times a game in the playoffs, especially with the tension of the tie. Tempers flare, someone pushes someone else, and next thing you know everyone is hugging. Mitch ends up with Boone Jenner’s arms around him. Jenner doesn’t really tower over him in height, but he’s a big guy and he gives Mitch a tight squeeze. “Fucking stop,” he snaps at Jenner. Sometimes Doms do this shit to try and get subs to drop, but Mitch isn’t a sub and Jenner knows it. It only serves to irritate him, although that’s probably the point.

Across the scrum, Tavares frowns. “Hey Jenner, why don’t you go try and Dom someone that actually wants it? Like your entire fuckin’ team?”

He can hear Jenner’s soft snort, right in his ear. “Oh I think he wants it. Don’t you, Mitchy? Dom, my ass.”

Morgan is in the scrum too, and his gaze snaps instantly to where Boone is still holding onto Mitch. “Hey, fuck you!” he snarls to Jenner, pushing away his man - Texier, Mitch thinks - so hard that he almost falls flat. Fortunately for the Leafs, Morgan is on the other side of the scrum and is instantly intercepted by the linesmen when he starts to skate over. Mitch gets one good elbow into Jenner’s stomach and finally manages to free himself as everyone’s attention is on Morgan, who is nearly apoplectic. “That’s a shitty fucking thing to say, Jenner. Shitty fucking thing! I expected better from you!”

“Oh fuck off,” Jenner spits back. “I saw you with Bjorky in a headlock earlier. You don’t think I know you were trying to drop him? You don’t think that’s a shitty fucking thing?”

“I was trying to get him the fuck away from Fred, not - “

“Shut up,” the ref barks. “Get back to your benches now or you’re both getting a fuckin’ penalty.”

That sends them both sulking back to their respective benches, but Mitch hears it from a couple Jackets the rest of the game - mostly the Jenner line - how he should stop pretending and just admit it. “Nothing wrong with being a switch, Marner,” Foudy tells him, and Mitch has to force himself to skate away before he does something he regrets.

They end up losing 2-0, and Morgan was on the ice for both goals. He looks thunderous, sitting in his stall, eyes down. Granted, the first was a shit line change by the previous D pair, and the second was an empty netter, but Mitch gets it. Regardless of circumstances, it still sucks. “I hope Mo gets with his sub tonight,” he overhears Auston say in the showers.

“Hope that sub likes getting thrown around, cause hoo boy Mo looks like he’s in the mood,” Willy retorts, and they both laugh while Mitch’s stomach drops.

Fuck. Mitch understands that desire all too well after a bad game. It’s the need to claw back control, and how helpful it is to have someone kneel for you; the knowledge that maybe you couldn’t affect the outcome of the game as much as you like, but you are fully in charge of the submissive in your care. Does Mo get that same high from being the one who kneels? Can he fulfill all his needs by subbing?

He hangs around anyway, loitering near Morgan as much as he can, just in case Mo pulls him aside and needs something that Mitch can give him. He wants to ask if Mo needs to kneel, wants to offer that, but he remembers Auston and Willy’s conversation and decides to wait and let Mo come to him. But he doesn’t. He offers a thin smile, a quiet goodnight, and so Mitch goes alone to his hotel room and thinks about his missed chances in the game and the way Morgan’s face flushes mid-orgasm and tries to go to sleep.

~~~~~

The next day is on off day, and the Leafs - along with a few other teams - get use of BMO Field for leisure. The mood from last night’s loss has shifted to anticipation and excitement. “I feel like I haven’t seen the sky in a week,” JT enthuses on the bus over.

“We’re lucky,” Tyson tells the group. “My guys on the Avs say the west bubble is way worse. Turf field, not grass, and their outdoor rec area at the hotel is like...entirely concrete. They call it the prison yard.”

“As if you weren’t excited anyway to be here with us,” Willy tells him, and Tyson laughs, although to Mitch’s ears it’s a polite chuckle. He knows how much the trade has stung for Tyson; he always wondered if there was some kind of relationship that he got ripped away from. Which, he realizes, brings up yet another issue with this stupid crush he’s got going on. What if one of them gets traded?

It’s the Leafs, and although Mitch trusts Dubas, it’s not as if they don’t have a history of...questionable moves. Neither he nor Morgan are in the untouchable category. He’s not sure anyone is, outside of Auston and maybe JT, and even then…

That’s way putting the cart before the horse, though. Mitch needs to resign himself to this _not fucking happening,_ so it’s not even worthwhile to consider risks like this. Morgan doesn’t want him long-term; he hasn’t shown a single hint otherwise. This is purely a convenience thing, just another weird quirk of the bubble.

The guys pile out of the bus whooping it up under the fresh air and sunshine, and Mitch forgets about his predicament for awhile, caught up in the joy of freedom. He joins in on a spikeball tournament - loses in the second round, but that’s okay - and then wanders over to where a few of the guys are tossing around a football, including Morgan. At this point almost everyone has their shirts off, the field offering no shade but plenty of sun, and he tries to keep his attention off the flat wide span of Morgan’s chest, but it’s hard.

Luckily nobody notices, because: “Holy shit,” Kerfy whispers in his ear, and Mitch finally sees what everyone else does. Rod Brind’Amour, the Hurricanes coach, is also shirtless on the other side of the field, and he is fucking _stacked._ “Isn’t he like 50?”

“Wish I looked like that at 50,” Mitch says. “Fuck, I don’t even look like that now.”

Kerfy hums appreciatively. “Bro I’d get on my knees for him and I’m not even sorry about it. Oh shit, you know how the players got paired together? What did they do for the coaches? Are the coaches like - together, I mean - oh my god - “

Mitch thinks about the Jackets’ coach, Tortorella, and - “Stop,” he groans. “Why’d you put this evil in my head?”

He’s too caught up in Brind’Amour and the horror of the coaches potentially fucking each other to notice that the football crew is taking a break, and Morgan has trotted over to them. “Jeez,” he says, following their gaze to Rod. “That’s honestly super impressive. Good for him.”

“Hey Mo, you think Keefe is kneeling for Brind’Amour over there?”

Morgan makes a series of shocked noises in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry, _what?”_

“What?” Kerfy shrugs. “Like, he’s probably kneeling for somebody, right? Haven’t you thought about what all the coaches are doing during the bubble?”

“Uh, I have not thought about that,” Morgan says, catching Mitch’s eye. He makes a face, and Mitch tries not to laugh. “I just hope he’s getting what he needs. But also that’s not something I need to think about.”

“Kerfy’s hot for Brind’Amour,” Mitch says. “That’s what started this whole thing. What if we play the Canes, eh Kerf? You gonna be eyeing up big daddy Brind’Amour the whole time?”

Kerfy giggles, but then he hums consideringly, tilting his head and mouthing the word _daddy_ , and - uh oh, Mitch is pretty sure he’s awoken something in Kerfoot that wasn’t there before. “Hey Marns, come play football with us,” Morgan says, dragging him away while Kerfy is still standing there, eyes wide.

“Oh thank god,” he tells Morgan gratefully as they jog away. “I didn’t want to stand there while Kerf had an existential crisis. I’ll let you guys get back to your game.”

“You don’t wanna join us?”

Mitch thought Morgan was just giving a polite excuse, but he’s frowning at Mitch like he’s disappointed. “I mean I’m not very good, but I’d love to play.”

“Trav’s team could use a handicap,” JT yells, using his shirt to wipe off his face and flipping someone off. He’s the only one wearing a shirt still, and he’s hearing it from a few of the guys.

“Ooh, that means we’re on different teams,” Morgan says, winking at Mitch. “Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” Mitch laughs, as he takes his place at the line and waits for the snap.

He drops the first two passes thrown his way. “Toldja I’m bad,” he crows to his team. He _is_ terrible, but hanging out with the boys is never a bad time.

“How the fuck you got hands of stone so bad here, but so good on the ice?” Travis chirps him.

Mitch wiggles his fingers. “Oh bud, these hands are good for a lot of things, but catching footballs ain’t one of them.”

Behind him, Morgan stifles a laugh, but he looks a little ruddier after that comment than he did before.

Despite the chirping, Trav - who is playing QB - still continues to throw to him if he’s open, and that’s what Mitch loves about these boys. He finally starts to get into the groove, catching a few passes and breaking up a couple plays when it’s his turn on defense. “Okay I’m about done,” JT announces. “A few more snaps for me.”

“Maybe if you’d take your tarp off, bud,” Mitch chirps him, but he has to agree: even without the shirt, it’s getting uncomfortably hot and sweaty.

“One more snap,” Trav says, and everyone lines up. Mitch is off the line fast, deking the hell out of Clifford, and he’s open. It’s a bad throw, but Mitch jumps for it - and catches it, fuck _yeah_ \- and then, as he’s coming down, he hits a brick wall and is gently brought to the grass, a big weight on top of him.

“Ow,” he says, blinking upwards and reeling from the hit. Through the halo of sunlight, Morgan’s concerned face is there. He’s - oh, shit - Morgan is on top of him. He must have run right into Mo as he was coming down with the ball.

“You okay? Mitchy?” Morgan says it so softly, full of concern, that Mitch can’t answer for a moment, just swallows. Jesus, he’s in Morgan’s arms on the ground. They’re both sweaty and shirtless, so Morgan’s chest is flush against his, their skin sticking together just like in the bedroom and - fuck.

There’s the sound of footsteps, and the other guys crowd around as Morgan scrambles off him, and the moment is broken. “Ya fuckin’ kill him, Mo? Christ,” Trav says.

“Nah, I’m good, just stunned for a sec.” Mitch sits up, shaking his head, and holds up his hand triumphantly. “Still caught it though!”

The group collectively sighs in relief and decides that’s enough football for the day, and Morgan helps him to his feet. His face is still creased in a frown, worry evident there. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Mitch says, patting his arm. “I’ve taken way harder hits on the ice. You’ve seen me take way harder hits.”

“Yeah, but at least with those, you’re prepared.” Morgan sighs, ruffles Mitch’s hair. “Nice catch, Marns.”

Mitch is about to respond when Auston jogs over to the group, cups his hand around his mouth to be heard. “Dinner’s soon and through these doors over here, boys. You ready?”

He is definitely fucking ready for dinner; between spikeball and football, he’s worn out. Morgan seems to agree, brightening up. “Let’s get some food, Marns,” he says, heading off in that direction with everyone else, scooping up his own shirt and tossing Mitch’s over. Mitch trots along, still thinking about the catch, about Morgan grabbing him in his arms, Morgan on top of him - as a Dom, maybe he’s not supposed to like that, but god he does - that warm heavy weight of a big guy. A big _sub_. And - 

Morgan called him Mitchy. On the ground, on top of him, he said ‘Mitchy’. Not Mitch. Not Marns. _Mitchy._

“Hey, you comin’, Marns?”

Mitch’s attention snaps back at the question. Almost everyone else is through the doors now, but Morgan has paused, looking back at him, head tilted in a question. Mitch realizes that he’s stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh, yeah,” he says, jogging to catch up and pulling on his shirt.

“You sure your noggin’s okay?” Morgan says it with a smile, but his tone is very serious.

“My head is perfect,” Mitch says truthfully.

“So you’re good?”

“I’m good,” Mitch says, but _that_ one’s a lie. He’s definitely not good. He’s a stupid, pining jerk, and he’s not gonna be ‘good’ for awhile.

~~~~~

Mitch is up early the next morning, blinking at his phone. Over an hour til his alarm - what the hell? This never happens. Mitch is not a morning person, but here he is, wide the hell awake. The sun’s not even up yet, jeez.

He’s pretty confident that if he lays back down and closes his eyes he’ll pass right out again, but...it doesn’t happen, so he snags his phone and goes through Twitter, Insta, watches a few highlights from last night’s games, scrolls until he’s bored and restless. Morgan’s face flashes unbidden into his mind, and Mitch remembers yesterday: that weight on top of him, the quietly murmured _Mitchy._ It’s easy to erase Mo’s concerned expression from the memory and replace it with one of desire, replace BMO Field with the hotel room. Mitch might be a Dom but he still sometimes likes bottoming, and he pictures it now, telling Morgan exactly what to do, how fast to fuck him, exactly the right angle. Maybe Morgan would keep a bra on, something cute and lacy, and Mitch would tangle his hand in it and yank Mo close and tell him he has _sixty seconds_ to make him come or else he doesn’t get to.

His hand has found his dick, and he throws off the blankets and jerks himself roughly, arching up to the fantasy. Morgan would make that little frown he gets when he’s really concentrating, angle himself to pound right against Mitch’s good spot, just how he likes it, trying so hard to hold himself back so he can concentrate solely on Mitch’s pleasure. His big hands would grab Mitch’s shoulders as he thrust, and maybe some Doms would feel helpless with it, but Mitch - nah, Mitch would feel powerful as fuck, knowing he could stop Morgan’s thrusts with a single whispered word, that the only reason he’s underneath Mo is because he _wants_ it. He’d come around Morgan’s dick, and Mo would tremble and curse as he tried not to lose control, to hang on until Mitch says he can come, because he’s a good boy, the best boy, his chest flexing underneath that pretty bra - 

“Fuck,” he groans out loud to the dark room as he comes. He lays there, panting to the ceiling for a few moments, thinking about what just happened. Mo did say no penetration, but maybe that was for him, maybe - 

Jesus, Mitch, stop. “Boundaries, you plug,” he tells himself out loud, pulling himself up and heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. He very carefully tries to think about other things while the water sluices around him: what video games are coming out next, what he needs to work on at practice today, some upcoming family birthdays he needs to buy gifts for. Anything but Morgan.

It works for awhile, but he’s showered and dressed and ready just as his alarm actually goes off. That means he has a solid 45 minutes before breakfast; normally he snoozes his alarm a few times and then speeds through his morning routine in 20. Not today. What the hell is he going to do till then?

_I was thinking for next time maybe...you could pick my outfit?_

That’s right. Morgan did say that Mitch should pick his next outfit. Hell, if he’s not going to be able to distract himself, he might as well lean into this whole Morgan thing, take the time to go through all his different options. He just jerked off, so now’s probably the perfect time; at least he won’t be tempted to do so while looking at Morgan’s lingerie.

Well. Probably.


End file.
